Rewrite
by AllMonstersAreHuman
Summary: A hopefully better rewrite of a story I posted a long time ago. Basically it's one of those 'what if Victor had married Emily' stories. I'm unbelievable bad at summaries, so I'm going to hope that this horrible non-explanation is enough for you to give a look.
1. Chapter 1

After a ludicrously (that's probably spelled wrong but whatever) long absence, here I am, and here is the rewrite, to anyone who read the first fanfic I posted.

Again, reviews are appreciated and might get a PM back or something. Flames will get rolled eyes and be deleted. At least try to be nice, since I am kind of sensitive *cowers*

Disclaimer: I'm not Tim Burton. ='[ More than enough said.

I sat alone in a half lit, dusty room: mine, even though there was very little to make it distinguishable from any other room in the orphanage.

The world went wearily by outside the window: impersonal horses and carriages ignoring the young beggars not even fortunate to have a place here.

Sometimes I felt like that, the two story brick building I lived in, was the universe's center, and the dingy side streets around it were belts of stars and planets orbiting it. The children living here were stars who'd fallen away and didn't know their way back. They never stopped wanting to return to it, but inevitably stopped hoping to.

A knock on my door brought me back to the present. I looked up to see Miss Minerva, the old matron, standing in the doorway, a young man and woman behind her. Even I, with no social ties and as much place in society as the average beetle, recognized the man as James Pearson, a well-known aristocrat. The woman must have been his new wife. I felt a sudden hope, despite how unlikely this was to end well.

Miss Minerva stepped back to let them in. James's face was unreadable, his wife's timid and hopeful. She was wringing her hands: must have been the first time she's done this.

"James, Maria, this is Emily."she introduced. "Emily, this is James and Maria Pearson." Now that we all knew each other's names, she left the rest of the introduction to us.

"Erm. . . hello." For once my shyness was real rather than a technique to make me appear milder mannered.

The Pearsons nodded in response. Maria, to my surprise, was the first to speak. "Have you. . . been here your whole life, Emily?"

"For as long as I can remember, yes." I didn't add that, according to Miss Minerva and some of the older children, my mother was found dead near here, holding onto me as though for dear life.

"And no one's taken you in?" James asked.

_Obviously. _I shook my head. " I don't know what it is. I'm not a bad child, really, or at least I don't think I am."

"Neither do I." Miss Minerva interjected. "In all the years she's been here, she's never gotten into a fight with anyone. Always does what she's told and doesn't make a fuss."

"Uh- huh." James nodded. "So other than being compliant and meek, what do you like to do?"

"Reading mostly. I like to play the piano, too, and I'm not that bad at it."

"She forgot to tell you how modest she is." Miss Minerva interrupted again. "She's very good at the piano, and has quite a nice singing voice, too."

They looked at me as if asking me to confirm all this, so I nodded, slightly warm in the face, trying to keep from smiling."

A few moments silence, and then. "Well, if that's all you two need to know, then I'll have you come with me."

Me face fell as they left. I just knew that it had gone wrong in some way I'd never figure out. I knew what would happen next. Miss Minerva would come in, attempting and failing not to look crestfallen. "You just weren't what they expected."she'd say. "I'm sure that next time. . . "

I would stop listening at that point, if I hadn't already. Even if there was a next time, it would end in just the same way. I wasn't old enough to be sent away from this place, but already too old for anyone to want me as their child, no matters how many 'next times' there were.

The door opened again. Miss Minerva stared at the ground, followed, oddly, by the Pearsons.

"Emily,"she began, the emotion in her voice unplaceable. "I'd like you to say hello to your parents."

"What?" Slowly I look up at them.

"Exactly what she said." Maria answers. "I don't know what it is, but I had this odd feeling a soon as we met you. I just sort of knew you were the one for us."

"It still has to be finalized, but by the end of the week you'll be living with us."

I stare into their faces, searching for any sign that they're lying or I am dreaming.

Finding none, my face breaks into a smile.

So that was the first chapter.

Hopefully it was okay, or at least a little better than the old version of it. I'm 99% sure this was a very rare scenario back then, but I never claimed to be writing realistic fiction, and as much as I tried to think of a different past for Emily, I failed. This was all that was in my head.

Anyway, hopefully that wasn't _too _bad. More coming (if anyone wants more, that is) the next time I can get to the internet.


	2. Now Emily

So, second chapter. I hope you don't hate the story yet. It's finally getting to the present, and therefore getting harder to write.

Reviews are still okay. Flames are still not. If you're going to criticize, please make it constructive. Be nice if you can. . .

Again, I hope it isn't too horrible, and I'm still not Tim Burton, as totally awesome as that would be.

"Emily. Emily."

I hear you first, then feel your hand on my shoulder, trying to make me stir.

I yawn and sit up. Funny that even after entering 'eternal rest' I still need the same amount of sleep as before, and that I still dream.

You smile. "Here. I made you this." You hand me an orange and red drink.

"Oh." I sip hesitantly. The sweetness hits my tounge (another odd thing about being dead – not losing my senses). "It's good, Victor. Thank you."

"Of course." You kiss me lightly. I turn blue, even though I'm used to your lips.

"Well, since you're up, I guess we should go downstairs, right?"

"Sure. Time to meet Bonejangles."

Now that we're both dead and married, there isn't much going on, besides the usual new arrivals. It was Bonejangles's idea, once he realized how good you were at the piano and that I had, not to brag, a fair singing voice, to make a sort of band at the Ball and Socket.

It's more fun than I thought it would be, Bonejangles and I singing while you play the piano. That's the best part of it, watching you play: the way you seem to hear the notes the way most people hear actual words, as though you can get something from them, comfort, perhaps, the feeling of being alright again when you think there is nothing to be happy about.

Maybe that's why you love to play it so much.

Walking up the aisle toward you that night, I thought everything was about to become perfect. It was the wedding of my dreams, and despite the short amount of time we'd known each other I really did – do – love you.

But it isn't. To all the world we seem like a happy, forever young couple, and most of the time we are. But then there are those moments, when you think no one is watching – those moments when you stare upward obviously seeing only memories of her and visions of the life that could have been. Neither of us talks about those moments. I pretend not to notice them and you pretend they never happen. Neither of us succeeds

So as much as I love you, I hate you. I hate you for staying here all this time, when I know you saw her that night, while we walked out of the church arm in arm and euphoric, until she noticed us and knew what we'd done. We both saw her, even if neither of us ever mentions it.

I used to hate her, too, when I saw the two of you together that night. She was an enemy then, one who already had an advantage in our small war, simply because she was alive when I wasn't, yours when I only hoped to be.

Seeing her then, heart breaking behind her eyes, changed all that. I wanted to turn back time and make it so we'd never met, because she was the one who really deserved you.

I couldn't though. I couldn't even apologize.

And so we left. And so we got here.

You never talk about it – her, that world, any of it, but I know you want to return.

You never say it, though. Even worse, you're still able to kiss me, to look at me with no reproach in your eyes. You don't mean for it to, but it hurts almost as much as it would if you refused to touch me and only looked at me when you had to, with hate filled eyes.

But you just smile, and every time you do I'm torn between wanting to hold you and wanting to tell you to get out of my sight and back to her, even if it is too late for that.

I'm sorry. Those are just words, I know, but I mean them. I'm sorry for taking you away from where you really belonged. I'm sorry for being too foolish to see the truth.

I know myself too well to even think of saying any of this aloud.

That's how much of a coward I am.

Well. . . that was. . . I don't really know what. Nothing I have high hopes for, but for some reason I'm still posting it. . .

Anyway, if you haven't noticed, this switches from past to present. In future chapters (if there are any of them) there'll also be different points of view.

That's about it, other than thank you for reading especially if you actually liked it *crosses fingers and hopes you did*

Even if you didn't though, thanks for giving it a chance.

I'm shutting up now.

Until next chapter. . .


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